Fitzwilliam Darcy and the Ward of Pemberley
by CressidaLane
Summary: A new resident has shaken up the Darcy household, making Mr. Darcy late to visit Charles Bingley at Netherfield.
1. Chapter 1

_Dear readers,_  
 _I'm back to work on this, but yeah, the first line still needs work._  
 _CL_

CHAPTER ONE

August 1811

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man acting as sole guardian to an adolescent girl must be in want of a wife.

The thought no more appeared in the mind of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy than he banished it. Such inklings were unhelpful at best, and distracting at worst. He had a duty to perform, and perform it he would. Mr. Darcy turned to face his cousin, glancing across the too-warm sitting room at the Colonel.

"She needs a governess," said Darcy.

"They're easily gotten," said Colonel Fitzwilliam. "The servants will not have discarded the morning papers yet, I expect; we could have a look."

"I find the idea of bringing on a perfect stranger to the task… unsavory," said Darcy. The Colonel shrugged.

"Boarding school, then," he replied. "Ten's as good an age as any to go. Likely do the girl some good to be among other young ladies."

It was the most rational choice to be sure yet Darcy was loathe to send the girl away when she'd only just arrived. The death of a parent was a grievous injury for any man — how much more so for a girl of ten?

He did not consider himself a sentimental man, but it was no hardship to rouse empathy for the orphaned bastard left to his care. Young Miss Susan Avery deserved that much of his consideration at least.

"Let me think on it," he said at length.

"There's no rush to it," said the Colonel. "She's well provided here at Pemberley."

"I've had a letter from Charles Bingley," said Darcy. "He desires my company at his new estate in Hertfordshire."

"Ah," said the Colonel. "You don't want to leave the girl unattended."

"You see my dilemma."

The child would hardly be alone. Pemberley was among the largest family homes in the county; at any given moment it housed well over a hundred servants, not counting the locals who farmed or worked the grounds. Susan Avery would be well cared for at Pemberley; his housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, would see to it.

"It speaks well of you, cousin," said Colonel Fitzwilliam with a smile. "That you feel so keenly for a young orphan who's been thrust upon you."

"It's hardly the child's fault," said Darcy archly. "I expect she did not ask to be delivered from her home to my door like some parcel."

"Even so," said the Colonel. "When will you depart for Hertfordshire?"

"Bingley takes possession of the place at Michaelmas. I intend to follow within a fortnight."

"You've plenty of time, then," said the Colonel.

"Plenty of time for what?" said a female voice.

Georgiana Darcy came in to the room, quietly taking the chair nearest the Colonel. He was a favorite to them both, almost a second father to Darcy's young sister.

"Susan Avery has had no education to speak of," said Darcy. He would not conceal his plan from his sister, not when concealment had lately caused so much pain between them. "I intend to place her with a reputable boarding school, as soon as a situation can be found."

"Oh, please," said Georgiana. "Please, do not make her go."

"I understand you feel for the girl, Georgiana, but she must be properly looked after. If I am to see to her education we'll have to find a place for her," said Darcy. He disliked refusing his sister anything, but five years of raising her up since their own father passed had taught Darcy to be swift where he could not indulge.

"Why not hire a governess? I had one," she said, her distress plain.

"We've discussed it," Darcy said, glancing at the Colonel. "If a suitable candidate can be found in a reasonable frame of time, there's no reason young Susan might not have a governess."

"You procured the nursery maid quickly enough," said Georgiana.

"I have some experience hiring servants, Georgiana," said Darcy. "I have no experience whatsoever with hiring a governess."

Not to mingle with servants, nor to act as part of the family, a governess held a particular - and very separate - station in a household.

"You were away at Cambridge when Miss Bartlett came to stay," said Georgiana, nodding as the memory surfaced.

"Precisely," said Darcy. "Our mother had the hiring of Miss Bartlett, and I knew nothing about the matter. At the time, I did not need to know."

"And now, here sit we three," said the Colonel, smiling again. "Educated, refined, with resources enough to hire any person in the country and yet we seem to be unable to come to a consensus on this point."

Darcy did not acknowledge the Colonel's teasing, though he earned a small smile from Georgiana.

"We will hire a governess, if you wish young Susan to remain at Pemberley," Darcy said to his sister. "In the meantime, I am to travel to Hertfordshire next month to see Mr. Bingley at his new estate."

"Will you take Susan with you?" asked Georgiana.

"Certainly not," said Darcy. It would be inappropriate and decidedly inconvenient, for he did not intend to remain away for long. The presence of a child and all the accompanying considerations would inevitably hamper his movements. "I believe she will be more comfortable here. Armitage, the new nursery maid, will keep her company. And I daresay there are other children on the grounds to keep her amused."

"She should not be left alone," said Georgiana softly. Darcy's frustration rose, but his sister continued in that same gentle tone. "I would stay behind with her."

"Aren't you bound for London next week?" asked the Colonel. Fitzwilliam knew the scheme full well; it had been his office to employ a suitable new companion for Georgiana at her new establishment in Town, to replace the deceitful Mrs. Younge now banished from their company.

"I am," she said. "That is, I was. I would stay behind with Susan, if it pleases you." Georgiana bowed her head. The Colonel nodded at Darcy, his expression full of approval. Darcy remained unconvinced.

"Why should you remain at Pemberley?" he asked. "Would you not prefer the diversions of London? You're to resume your lessons with Master Frederick." She was devoted to her practice; a gifted player, his sister.

Georgiana rose suddenly and slowly crossed the room, avoiding their eyes. Knowing Georgiana's modest temper so well as only family could, the men waited in silence.

"You think me fearful," she said, finally meeting her brother's eyes. "I cannot fault you for it. Perhaps I am afraid to be out among company again after failing you so wretchedly this summer."

Darcy could not stand to hear her speak thus.

"You did not fail, certainly not in any way that could be described as wretched, and I will not hear you speak of yourself in so denigrating a manner," he said in a low, cold voice. "The man who imposed himself on you at Ramsgate is at fault."

"Nevertheless," said Georgiana, averting her eyes once more as a blush stained her cheeks. "My character is in question. I should like the opportunity to restore it, if only in your eyes."

Darcy heard his cousin sigh. In that moment his hatred of George Wickham reached a new depth.

"I propose to remain at Pemberley until such time as a suitable governess may be found; perhaps even past that time. I will attend Susan in the meantime. My own governess Miss Bartlett was a credit to her profession; everyone said so. Perhaps I might make myself useful in instructing Susan until then," said Georgiana.

"You take too much upon yourself," said the Colonel.

"Perhaps," Georgiana conceded. She looked to Darcy. "Please, brother? I will not fail you again."

A fracture where Darcy's heart had been healing shifted, widening once more. Had his father seen fit to tell him the truth, had he trusted him all those years ago, poor Georgiana would have been spared this pain.

"You are too severe upon yourself," he said darkly, after a calming moment. Georgiana made no reply but waited for his answer.

"I could as easily arrange for Mrs. White to travel here as Mayfair," Fitzwilliam said to Darcy, referring to Georgiana's new companion. "Master Frederick, too, if he's available."

The Colonel's acquiescence was necessary as they shared the guardianship of Darcy's young sister, though it was perhaps now more a formality than anything else. As his cousin's approbation was clear, Darcy relented.

"You may stay with young Susan," said Darcy. "However, I expect letters from each of you while I'm gone. We'll have no more secrets between us."

"Of course, brother. Thank you," said Georgiana, making curtsy as she smiled. "How long will you be in Hertfordshire?" While Georgiana enjoyed their acquaintance with Mr. Bingley and his sisters she'd preferred little company since her return from Ramsgate.

"I've not yet determined my return," said Darcy.

"Will we be seeing young Miss Susan at dinner this evening?" asked the Colonel.

"I do not believe so," said Georgiana. "Three weeks she's been here and she's not dined with us since the first night."

The child had been too frightened to speak and wholly ignorant of appropriate table manners. On reflection Darcy realized he ought to have expected as much; it benefitted no one to force the girl to lollop her way through social graces, the likes of which she'd never seen.

Perhaps Georgiana's suggestion had merit. But for a lingering tendency toward shyness his sister was ladylike in every respect, a fact in which Darcy took immense pride. Georgiana's continued presence at Pemberley guaranteed his young ward would have daily proof of the deportment required of her to move in society. Until he was able to secure an appropriate governess to see to young Susan's specific instruction, perhaps this was truly the best course of action.

"If that is all," Darcy said. Georgiana and the Colonel both nodded.

"Do excuse me," he said. "I must write to Mr. Bingley."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

"Really, Mr. Bennet," said his wife. "Will you not tell me what that letter says? That is cruel, even for you."

"What makes you say so, wife?" Mr. Bennet did often enjoy vexing his wife, for it was easily done and provided ample amusement for the time spent. In this case, his enjoyment was much curtailed by the letter in question.

The floor above his library shook slightly under the weight of his daughters abovestairs. Mr. Bennet sighed. Some peace would be restored by the return of his eldest daughters from their stay at neighboring Netherfield Park. As was, the younger Lydia and Catherine ran rampant.

"Mr. Bennet, I declare if you do not tell me what troubling news is in that letter I shall take it upon myself to steal it from you at the first opportunity and read it for myself."

Mr. Bennet sighed again.

"You needn't trouble yourself, dear," he said. "I am of a mind to indulge your request."

Mrs. Bennet stopped her keening, astonished into silence. Her surprise was natural; this marked the first time Mr. Bennet had conceded her any request in twenty years or more. Unsure of his sudden change, suspicious of its gravity, Mrs. Bennet could find no words to make a reply.

It was another first in their married life yet Mr. Bennet could not find within himself the ability to savor it.

"I have this week received information from the attorney entrusted with our daughters dowries. He tells me that one enterprising young man in his employ has seen fit to liberate those dowries without the added strain of having to marry."

"Speak sense, Mr. Bennet," said his wife, already growing cross.

"I'd do so, my dear, were I able to make sense of it myself," said Mr. Bennet. "The fact of the matter is, our daughters have nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Not a farthing left, he tells me. We have Longbourn, of course. The living is entailed away, but so long as I live we'll at least have Longbourn," said Mr. Bennet.

Mrs. Bennet's surprise gave way to panic and she began to weep. "Oh, Mr. Bennet!"

His wife's weeping did not distress him any longer, if it ever had. Her tears were brought on easy as any common cold; though unlike that sickness, they lingered if tended to.

"I would like to tell you to be at peace, Mrs. Bennet, but I'm afraid I can provide no such comfort," he said instead. "As I am sure you see, the situation is rather hopeless."

Mrs. Bennet's tears now verged on wailing, but Mr. Bennet continued.

"There is but one solution; I am sure you have seen it for yourself. As this house is entailed away from our girls, I'm afraid the only thing left to do is for you to produce a male heir at last."

The room fell silent.

"There, now," said Mr. Bennet. "While you consider that you may be the only hope our daughters have, allow me to show you the letter I received just yesterday."

"Oh, do not talk to me of letters. I am sick to death of letters," said Mrs. Bennet. Her protest lacked conviction, perplexed as she was by Mr. Bennet's use of the word 'heir'.

"Very well, my dear," said Mr. Bennet. "I shall acquaint you with its contents nonetheless, for you may need to speak to the cook."

Mrs. Bennet had not yet relinquished her place in the conversation though she'd long since ceased to understand it. Before she could make a reply, Mr. Bennet continued.

"As you know, my father and his brother did not leave this earth with peace between them. The son of my father's brother, a man on whom I have never laid eyes, is the author here," he said, indicating the second letter.

"Oh!" said Mrs. Bennet. "Do not speak of that odious person! I will not hear it." The cousin to whom he referred was Mr. Bennet's nearest male relation and as such, heir to the estate at Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet was not inclined to entertain thoughts of the person who would -though by no fault of his own- render her homeless in her widowhood.

"I wish to accommodate you, Mrs. Bennet, but I fear I must persist. This man, Mr. William Collins, lately of Kent, has written in advance of his arrival."

"He purports to come here, into this house? The nerve!"

"Yes, my dear, perhaps you are right. But I thought perhaps we might meet at last, as he has made so humble a gesture of goodwill as to come all this way. He will be staying the fortnight hence."

"He intends to stay here, does he? Wants to get a good look at the place, I expect." Mrs. Bennet continued her speech in this manner. It was some time before Mr. Bennet felt called to intercede.

"You make a colorful argument as always, Mrs. Bennet," he said. "In any case, the man is coming here, and should arrive sometime this afternoon."

Mrs. Bennet drew breath to continue her intensive critique of Mr. Collin's character when a thought gave her pause.

"Will Mrs. Collins be joining us as well?" she asked.

Mr. Bennet raised his eyebrows.

"He makes no mention of a wife in this letter," he said. "And given its tone, I believe such information would have been passed on promptly. What moves you ask?"

Mrs. Bennet paused once more and Mr. Bennet experienced real trepidation at the coming fortnight. He was more concerned about his daughters lost security, although what could be done about it he hadn't the slightest idea. Still, Mrs. Bennet had demonstrated a particularly enterprising spirit where her daughters were concerned.

Mrs. Bennet's mind, ever active if rarely productive, had set to work on both subjects and united them. Five unmarried daughters, the eldest of whom she'd expected to have been married nearly every day the last five years, had manifested a life's work before her eyes. A woman's position was only as good as the match she could make and her girls had reason to hope for a life of security. Jane might even make a love match, if their new neighbor, one Mr. Bingley, came to scratch. To Mrs. Bennet, pursuing a match for the sake of love alone was a senseless fashion among the younger set which served no purpose so far as she could see, but in Jane's case - certainly in Mr. Bingley's case - she could afford to be generous.

Still if Mr. William Collins, already possessed of a good living in Kent in addition to his prospects as heir of Longbourn, was unmarried and would be a guest in her home he might easily take a liking to one of her girls. Mary would hardly do for any man, but as vicar he might appreciate her seriousness. Lizzie was the prettier among them, of course, and so might do. Lydia was too spirited for a vicar's wife, surely, but if Mr. Collins saw her with an eye of favor Mrs. Bennet would not deny him.

"I need to speak with Hill. Where is Hill?" said Mrs. Bennet. Preparations must be made. Their guest would have the nothing but the best Longbourn had to offer.

Mr. Bennet started; Mrs. Bennet had been still so long he'd thought perhaps to send for the doctor.

"There is much work to be done, Mr. Bennet," said his wife. She left without further exposition, calling for the housekeeper as she went.

Mr. Bennet reclined in his chair, averting his eyes from the letters on the desk before him. His wife had clearly found some notion to entertain her, a fact for which he was grateful. His own response to the news was enough at present; to manage hers had been a feat of no small strength. Reflection rarely served him, and he did not like the present reminder that his children had no security once he shuffled off this mortal coil. Now, more than ever before, Mr. Bennet felt the weight of what he ought to have done so many years ago to provide for their future.

These ruminations prevented Mr. Bennet enjoying his book to almost any degree over the course of that afternoon. His humor was buoyed only by the return of his eldest two daughters, who'd been confined to neighboring Netherfield Park almost a week past.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Netherfield Park was a grand house. There was nothing untoward in its grandeur, unlike some estates seen in other parts of the country. It was an stately home, clearly better than its surroundings, and did nothing to disguise those facts.

Netherfield Park had a great deal in common, thought Elizabeth Bennet, with Miss Caroline Bingley.

"Lizzy," Jane whispered. "Your thoughts are too plain. What has happened now?"

Situated as they were so far behind the rest of the party a conversation was unlikely to be heard, but Elizabeth understood her sister's desire for privacy.

Netherfield Park was the chief residence of one Mr. Charles Bingley. He was accompanied by his sisters, Miss Caroline Bingley and Mrs. Louisa Hurst and that lady's husband, Mr. Hurst.

Mr. Hurst need not often be counted among the company, thought Elizabeth, as he was most usually sleeping.

"Forgive me, dear sister," said Elizabeth, not whispering but unwilling to expose her dearest sister to any embarrassment. "I shan't shame you by sharing my thoughts. Instead, satisfy my curiosity on one point, if you would be so kind."

"Of course," said Jane.

"If we were to make it a reasonable comparison, whom would you declare thinks themselves highest — Miss Bingley, or the Emperor of the French?"

"Lizzy!" Jane was properly shocked. Elizabeth smiled.

"Forgive me," she said, impenitent. "I've heard enough sly remarks on the subject of my walking to last into my dotage. I could not help myself."

Jane was not soothed, but clearly thought the subject best left alone for she abandoned her scolding to walk ahead of her sister.

The morning service marked the end of their interminable stay at Netherfield. Jane, having taken ill on her journey from home to dine with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst one night, had hence been too ill to be moved. Elizabeth could not refuse her sister's plea for company when the doctor forbade her return home, and so came on to stay until Jane was mended. Six days had passed since then in relative peace, but for Miss Bingley's and Mrs. Hurst's sneering disinterest. Mr. Bingley had been kindness itself; it was no hardship to presume his feelings for her eldest sister produced this effect, though he was a generous man by everything else Elizabeth knew of him.

If Mr. Bingley did not propose to her sister by Christmas, Elizabeth would eat her hat.

Elizabeth observed as Jane approached the rest of the party. Miss Bingley released her brother's arm to take Jane's, declaring for all to hear how very sorry she was that Jane would be leaving them. Mrs. Hurst, as in all things, declared her feelings to be the same. The rest, Elizabeth could not hear, but she smiled and enjoyed the prospect of the house as they approached. She was very happy to be going home again.

On drawing still nearer, she noted a second carriage pulled alongside her father's.

Finer than any she'd seen outside of London, the carriage clearly contained someone known to the Bingleys for Mr. And Miss Bingley increased speed at once.

"Here we are!" called Mr. Bingley with a wave.

A tall figure appeared, dressed every bit as fine as his carriage. On approach, Elizabeth observed the man - handsome enough, though a bit too dour for her liking.

"What timing, eh?" said Mr. Bingley as the party came to a stop. "We've just come from morning service."

"Of course," said the man, a scant smile on his face as they shook hands. "I've only just arrived myself."

"Mr. Darcy!" cried Miss Bingley. "You are most welcome, though really, we ought to scold you for delaying your visit so long."

"Yes, quite," said Mrs. Hurst. Their chiding words notwithstanding, Mr. Bingley's sisters deferred to the handsome stranger with haste. It took little imagination to guess why.

"Allow me to introduce to you our new neighbors," said Mr. Bingley. He turned to smile at Jane and Elizabeth. "This is Miss Bennet, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet. They've been our guests here the last week, or almost that long. Ladies, this is man is my friend, Mr. Darcy. He's only just arrived from Derbyshire."

"How do you do Miss Bennet? Miss Elizabeth?" said Mr. Darcy. He inclined his head politely. "But you said you were neighbors, Charles."

Jane blushed.

"Miss Bennet had the grievous misfortune to fall ill during a visit here last week. Miss Elizabeth has proven herself to be a faithful nurse," said Mr. Bingley.

"Indeed, quite faithful," said Miss Bingley. "I would have you know, Mr. Darcy, that Miss Eliza here, on hearing of her dear sister's sickness, would hear nothing of carriages but insisted on walking the three miles between our houses to tend her."

"She's an example of sisterly concern to us all," added Mrs. Hurst.

And let that be the end to the introduction, Elizabeth prayed, but she ventured no comment of her own. Escape was too near, she would not dare risk prolonging their stay by rising to Miss Bingley's provocation.

Handsome as he was, even the mysterious Mr. Darcy was not worth that.

Elizabeth raised her eyes intending to excuse herself and Jane, but was surprised to find Mr. Darcy watching her. She flushed.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Elizabeth," he said.

"Thank you, sir," said Elizabeth.

"And Miss Bennet, I hope you are quite recovered," said Mr. Darcy, shifting minutely to include Jane in their conversation.

"Thank you, sir," she said, making curtsy. "I am quite well."

"So well, in fact that today they are leaving us," said Mr. Bingley, dissatisfaction clear in his voice.

"Even now?" asked Mr. Darcy.

"Our father is keen to have us home again, sir," said Elizabeth. "I believe he expects us within the hour."

"I suppose I'd best not importune Mr. Bennet any longer, then" said Mr. Bingley.

Jane excused herself as Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst walked her arm-in-arm toward the other carriage. Elizabeth fancied Mr. Bingley's eyes lingered in their direction.

"I hope we shall meet again, Miss Elizabeth," said Mr. Darcy. She thanked him and excused herself. Elizabeth knew she was unlikely to meet so handsome a gentleman again soon; certainly not one so wealthy. She felt a small pang of regret; she smiled more fully, laughing to herself at the direction her mind wandered.

Taking their leave of Mr. Bingley, his sisters, and his newly-arrived friend, Elizabeth and Jane ascended their own carriage and moments later turned up the road to Longbourn.

On arriving home a short time later, Elizabeth had all but put the enigmatic Mr. Darcy from her mind, but the sudden appearance of her younger sisters drove him away entirely.

"Quite the homecoming for you, Jane," said Elizabeth, indicating the three girls awaiting their descent from the carriage.

"I think something might be wrong," said Jane, peering out the window with a frown. A moment later she was handed down and the three youngest Miss Bennets surrounded them.

"You will never believe it when we tell you," said Lydia, the youngest Bennet sister.

"It is too, too awful," said Catherine. Older than Lydia by two years, but inclined to follow her younger's lead in all respects, Kitty's face shone with tears.

Eighteen-year-old Mary held her tongue, but her typically austere face was more somber than usual.

"What is it?" said Elizabeth. "What has happened?"

"Father has just received a letter from his attorney in London. Some wretched upstart absconded with our dowries," said Lydia, eyes shining with the triumph of breaking the news before anyone else.

"What on earth can you mean?" said Elizabeth.

"Just what I said," said Lydia, all indignation.

"Our dowries," said Elizabeth, more slowly this time. "You mean all our dowries are gone. They've been stolen?"

"Just so," said Mary somberly. "We are well and truly penniless."

Kitty began to weep noisily.

"Hush, Kitty," said Jane, taking her hand. "Surely there has been some misunderstanding."

"Not at all," said Lydia, annoyed by the implication that her intelligence might be false. "Father told Mamma the whole of it just this morning. She's been hounding us ever since."

"She hasn't hounded me, not in the slightest," said Mary.

"That's because she knows you'll never marry anyone," said Kitty, sneering at her sister between sniffles.

"You mean, Mamma's been hounding you about getting married," said Elizabeth. She glanced over and met Jane's eyes.

"Yes, and you'll never guess what else," said Lydia, her excitement growing.

"Lydia, please," said Jane.

"I shall tell you, because truly, you will never guess," she said. "Father's cousin is coming to visit."

"What cousin?" Said Elizabeth.

"You know, that cousin. The one who's to inherit our house," said Lydia.

"Mr. William Collins," said Mary.

Understanding dawned. "Oh, no," said Elizabeth.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"Oh, yes," said Lydia, nodding. "We're to marry Mr. Collins fast as he might be had."

"What, all of us?" asked Elizabeth.

"You know perfectly I mean one of us," said Lydia, her chin rising in indignation. "Mamma has determined Mr. Collins is to marry one of us. Only, I daresay Jane is exempt."

Jane blushed. "I don't see why—"

"I think we're all past the point of prevaricating on the subject of Mr. Bingley, Jane," said Mary with a sniff. "At any rate, Mamma has already said you're to keep to yourself when Mr. Collins arrives, unless you're called upon to attend one of the rest of us."

"Yes, that. We came to warn you, Lizzy," said Lydia. "Mamma thinks you'd likely suit him best. She says the role of vicar's wife might be just what you need."

The housekeeper of Longbourn approached. "Begging your pardon, young misses," said Hill. "My lady is asking for you in the drawing room."

"Thank you, Hill," said Jane. The housekeeper retreated to the house.

"I suppose we're to receive our instructions," said Mary.

"I expect yours will be to keep quiet," said Lydia.

"It would make for a nice change for you, wouldn't it?" said Mary, turning to approach the house. "Hearing those words aimed elsewhere for once."

"Oh!"

Elizabeth followed her sisters, slowing only when Jane placed a hand at her elbow.

"Lizzy," she said in hushed tones. "Do you really suppose things are so very bad?"

"Things were not so very good to begin with," said Elizabeth, matching her sister's tone. "In any event, it seems we shall find out presently. It's a lucky thing for you, I think, that this news follows Mr. Bingley to the neighborhood rather than precedes it."

"Oh, Lizzy," said Jane.

"I am teasing you, but it's true," said Elizabeth. "Should anyone in the county have got wind of this sooner, Mr. Bingley would likely have been warned away from our penniless lot of unmarried ladies. No, Jane; I am glad that he has come, and gladder still that he already likes you."

Further contemplation on that subject was left to Jane alone as they entered the drawing room well behind their younger sisters. Mrs. Bennet sat in her favorite chair nearest the fire. Mr. Bennet was also present; the sight of him outside his library at this hour marked the severity of the situation.

"Sit down, if you please," said Mrs. Bennet to her eldest daughters. "For there is much to do and very little time in which to do it."

"What has happened, Mamma?" asked Elizabeth when everyone was seated save Mr. Bennet.

"I expect your sisters have already told you," said Mrs. Bennet. "Your dowries have been lost to some thieving upstart. Mr. Bennet is persuaded there is no chance of the villain's recovery, and therefore no chance the funds may be restored."

Kitty resumed her weeping.

"Stop that moaning, child, it does no good," snapped Mrs. Bennet.

"But Mamma," said Kitty on a gasp. "What are we to do? No respectable man will take any one of us, not so very poor."

"That's yet for us to discover," said Mrs. Bennet. Elizabeth looked to her father, seeking out his opinion with her eyes but he remained still, facing the window.

"The greatest possibility for salvation is upon us already," said Mrs. Bennet. "I shan't waste time on it, but my lovely Jane… I was sure you could not be so beautiful for nothing. You know your duty."

"Mamma!" cried Elizabeth. Such speech was shocking, even for their mother.

"As for you, Miss Lizzy," said Mrs. Bennet, turning a stern gaze her way. "Our dear, dear cousin Mr. Collins arrives this evening for his first visit to the neighborhood. I daresay it will not be his last. You are to see that he wants for nothing."

"Mamma," said Elizabeth again. She was forestalled by her mother's raised hand as Mrs. Bennet turned her attention to include all her daughters.

"Mr. Collins is unmarried. As the heir of Longbourn, I fancy it suits his interests -certainly it suits your own- were he to take a bride from among the five of you. As Jane is… otherwise diverted at present, I charge the rest of you to make what you can of it."

"If Lizzy's to take him on, why should we bother?" whined Kitty.

"Lizzy would benefit most from such a station, and given her age she is the most likely candidate to my mind," said Mrs. Bennet. "However, Mr. Collins may prefer any of the rest of you. You should be mindful of it. There will not be so great an opportunity before you again in your lives."

The sound of approaching horses put an end to the tete a tete. Mrs. Bennet dismissed the girls to tidy themselves as Mr. Bennet went silently out to greet their guest.

Mr. Collins might have been an amusing albeit unconventional guest had he not been tasked with saving the entire Bennet household.

Elizabeth had little reason to speak during the meal, as Mrs. Bennet had determined to discern the finer points of their guest's particular requirements of a wife by the culmination of the evening. Mrs. Bennet had in her mind dismissed the idea that Mr. Collins might find this line of questioning untoward; being family, there could surely be no secrets between them.

In truth, Mr. Collins did not object but Mrs. Bennet was not to be satisfied in her curiosity. Rather, their cousin proved to misunderstand Mrs. Bennet so often, he provided no intelligence on that score whatsoever.

Mr. Bennet did not take such enjoyment of their guest as Elizabeth might have hoped. Had Mr. Collins deigned to visit any time prior to the horrible news of their pilfered dowries, Elizabeth felt certain her father would have delighted to hear his cousin's ebullient praise of a neighbor and patroness (one very distinguished Lady Catherine de Bourgh, of whom they heard much detail). Mr. Collins's manner and address invited Mr. Bennet's particular breed of disdain; yet for all the diverting material before him, Elizabeth was certain her father heard little of it, if any.

He certainly did not intervene when Mrs. Bennet began to pry.

"What do you say, Mr. Collins," she said between bites of duck. "What say you of this new pique amongst the younger set, of gentlemen and ladies choosing to marry for some notion of feeling,? As a clergyman, do you not prefer a more traditional understanding?"

Elizabeth widened her eyes and drew breath to intervene, but Mr. Collins recovered despite his blush and made answer before she could speak it.

"It is the duty of a clergyman," he said, "in all things to set an example before his flock. It is my belief that while love may be a fashionable sentiment and perhaps even a desirable artifact in a union, it is by no means the only way of securing one's happiness in a partner."

"You would advise young persons as such, I hope," said Mrs. Bennet, encouraging him. "Such a reasonable sentiment can hardly be objectionable, coming from one such as yourself."

"As a man of God, I feel I would have to advise each soul individually," he said, appearing confused by Mrs. Bennet's particular interest in the subject. The man may have made little sense, but he clearly took pains to be polite to his hostess.

Mrs. Bennet, frustrated by Mr. Collins's equanimity on the subject, took a breath. In the space of it, Elizabeth found time to speak.

"Is this your first visit to Hertfordshire, Mr. Collins?"

"It is," said Mr. Collins, turning to smile at Elizabeth.

"How do you find our county? It is to your liking, I hope," Elizabeth continued. She was too keen to maintain an acceptable topic of conversation that when Mr. Collins smile broadened, she disregarded his sudden interest.

"I find Hertfordshire very much to my liking, Cousin Elizabeth," said Mr. Collins with some feeling. I find thus far I like it better every moment."

Here Elizabeth was liberated of her share in the conversation, as Mary chose to discourse on the finer points of the county and how little they compared to his home in Kent. Mr. Collins was content to receive these compliments until the final course and at length the meal was finished.


End file.
